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Disclaimer: We at Prepare for Change (PFC) bring you information that is not offered by the mainstream news, and therefore may seem controversial. The opinions, views, statements, and/or information we present are not necessarily promoted, endorsed, espoused, or agreed to by Prepare for Change, its leadership Council, members, those who work with PFC, or those who read its content. However, they are hopefully provocative. Please use discernment! Use logical thinking, your own intuition and your own connection with Source, Spirit and Natural Laws to help you determine what is true and what is not. By sharing information and seeding dialogue, it is our goal to raise consciousness and awareness of higher truths to free us from enslavement of the matrix in this material realm.
one to one point six one eight
extort it then, in fiendish laughter. still a few dazzling lights annoying, so, its their daughters and sons over the wall, this time; heaps of flesh of hellish depth. cunning visions instilling, ‘when i’m the measure of perfection, we’ll have a measure of perfection.’ i wonder will it rival the word not roared in the shape of the perfect rectangle. one to one point six. forming a perfect curve.
and me without my sniper rifle
aimed at those in the knowledge. at darkness murk. at ‘when all you worship is a lie, we’ve succeeded’. at the replacement of the wonder of your ear to diabolical and fear. and to true history concealed and architectural re-purposing unquestioned. aimed at moon landings and 93,000,000 miles and our realm spinning, orbiting, drifting. and yet still somehow our north star north. now, after all these great years
unending twaddle weaving a fish tale acclaiming Legion forming this fucking, this kneeling, this yielding befuddling. all our pharaoh decadent and oh so deadly; we wallow in goat’s soup by monolithic decree we anoint in secretive circle the rapacious ones next & the related ‘history is a lie agreed upon’. purple tis the plan demanding untold patience & thrones & bloody gore & us so vulnerable, all our writhe seen. what intelligent design. one must conclude then, i guess, and as well admit, God’s not used to winning